Seaside Avenue (Cedar Cove #7)(3)

Teri wrapped her arms around Bobby and hugged him close. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“That’s easy,” Bobby assured her.

“Listen, you two lovebirds, I wish I could stay but I’ve got to get back. I have a research paper that’s due tomorrow.” With Teri’s encouragement, Johnny was taking a summer course to get a head start on the next school year. He pushed back his chair and stood. “So you’ll get in touch with Mom?”

“I suppose.” Teri sighed, already resigned to the inevitable.

“Christie, too,” her brother insisted. “She is our sister.”

“Mark my words. Bobby won’t be safe with her around.” And neither will my marriage, she thought darkly.

Teri hated to disparage their sister. But experience told her exactly what to expect. Sure as anything, Christie would throw herself at Bobby. The fact that he was married wouldn’t matter. Not to Christie. Every boyfriend Teri’d ever had, her sister had attempted to seduce. Bobby wouldn’t be the exception, and because he was her husband, Christie would probably consider him an especially worthwhile challenge.

Poor Bobby. He had no idea. He’d certainly never encountered a family like hers.

“Next weekend?” Johnny asked hopefully.

“No,” Teri said. She needed time to prepare herself for this. “Give me a week to get organized. Two weeks from Saturday.”

If Johnny was disappointed by the delay, it didn’t show. “See you then,” he said and kissed her cheek on his way out the door.

Bobby slid his arm around her shoulders. Teri reminded herself yet again that she loved her husband and he loved her. Despite that, she couldn’t entirely quell her fears.

While Bobby Polgar was unlike any man she’d ever known, he was still a man. He’d be just as susceptible to Christie’s beauty and her undeniable charm as every other boyfriend she’d had.

“I’m happy to be meeting your family,” Bobby said after Johnny had left.

Smiling proved difficult. Poor Bobby, she thought again. He didn’t know what he was letting himself in for.

Two

Troy Davis had been the duly elected sheriff of Cedar Cove for nearly seventeen years. He’d been raised in this town, graduating from the local high school. Afterward, like many of his friends, he’d enlisted in the army, where he’d served as an MP. He’d trained at the Presidio in San Francisco, and just before shipping out to a base in Germany, he’d spent a three-day leave touring the city. That was where, on a foggy June morning in 1965, he’d met Sandy Wilcox.

After spending the day together, they’d exchanged addresses and corresponded during his tour of duty. When he was discharged, Troy had asked Sandy to marry him. By then she was in college and he’d joined her at SFU in San Francisco. In 1970, they were married and settled in his hometown of Cedar Cove, where Troy had accepted a job in law enforcement. He’d worked as a deputy until he ran for sheriff and won. Life had been good to him, to both of them. And then Sandy had gotten sick….

“Dad?”

Troy looked up from where he was seated in the living room, staring down at the carpeted floor. “Pastor Flemming’s here,” Megan said quietly. She’d come over to help him organize Sandy’s things—figure out what should go where.

Deep in thought, Troy hadn’t even heard the doorbell. He stood as the other man walked into the room.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” the pastor from Cedar Cove Methodist church said. He was a soft-spoken, caring man who’d officiated at Sandy’s funeral services with compassion and sincerity. Many an afternoon, Troy had found Dave Flemming sitting with his wife, reading from the Bible or praying with her or sometimes just chatting. He’d been touched by the sympathy the pastor had extended, first to Sandy and now to Megan and him.

Troy wasn’t sure how to respond to the pastor’s concern. “We’re coping as well as we can,” Troy said.

No death was easy and although Troy had felt he was prepared to lose Sandy, he wasn’t. As sheriff, he’d certainly seen his share of death, and it wasn’t something he’d ever get used to. But this one struck at the very foundations of his life. Nobody was ever truly ready to lose a wife or mother, he supposed, and Sandy’s death had hit both him and Megan hard.

“If you need anything, just say the word.”

“I will.” Troy gestured toward the sofa. “Would you care to sit down?” he asked.

“I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee,” his daughter added. “Will you have some?”

Troy was proud of what a good hostess Megan had become. Ever since Sandy’s multiple sclerosis had become so much worse, his daughter often filled that role for him, something she’d continued to do after her marriage. Troy appreciated the way she’d willingly stepped in for her mother. She’d accompanied him to various functions in Sandy’s place, and occasionally held dinners for family friends. They’d grown especially close since Sandy had gone into the nursing home two years before.

“Thank you, no,” Dave told them. “I can’t stay. But I’d like to help in any way I can. If it’s too painful for you to sort through Sandy’s things, for instance, I’d be happy to ask some of the ladies at church to lend a hand.”